


Pieces in Their Games

by jerobitaille



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate canon event, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerobitaille/pseuds/jerobitaille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Snow sets out to show that no Victor is truly safe before the Quarter Quell announcement. AU canon event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces in Their Games

**Author's Note:**

> Since Peeta's brothers are never actually named, I'm borrowing a name I've read in other fics. It really fit, so I hope the authors don't mind. :)

**Pieces in Their Games**

If she hadn’t been expecting a call from Cinna, she never would have answered the telephone that evening. 

Most days Katniss purposely ignores the bright red telephone hanging by itself on the kitchen wall near the hallway. More than once, she’s been tempted to rip it out of the wall like Haymitch had years ago. It’s a glaring reminder of the Capitol’s continued incursion into her life. There are days on end that it stays silent, a blessing that she’s been grateful for. She must have glared at it one too many times because a few weeks ago, she’d come downstairs to find one of Cinna’s patterned scarves draped over the telephone. The scarf is feather-light and gauzy, but the colours are dark enough that they obscure the bright red of the phone. Katniss is more than content to leave the scarf there.

Except that now the phone’s ringing and there’s a good chance that Cinna’s on the other end. He’s due in District Twelve at the end of the week to oversea a photo shoot of her in far too many wedding dresses. When the dresses had arrived nearly a month before, it had caught her completely off guard and made the Capitol fiction that was their love affair seem a bit too real.

Just like the scarf on the telephone, most days Katniss can ignore the romance that the Capitol has crafted for her and Peeta. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve who survived the Arena to become to first dual Victors of the Games. It’s a role she’d played well in the Arena, but now that they’re back home, the lines have become blurred. As hard as she tries, Katniss can’t put a name to what exists between her and Peeta. She’d never wanted to fall in love with anyone, refusing to allow herself to feel those same emotions that had nearly destroyed her mother in the wake of her father’s death.

Since those silent nights in her cabin on the train during the Victory Tour, it’s become clear to Katniss that she doesn’t really have a say in this case.

Plucking the scarf off the telephone, Katniss turns and drops it onto the table behind her, watches it flutter onto the scarred wooden surface before picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“You should know, Miss Everdeen, that I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

It’s as though all of the breath is suddenly stolen from her lungs.

“P-President Snow?”

Katniss can feel the bile rising in her throat, suddenly terrified for those around her. She stumbles backwards, the cord stretching nearly to its limit before she bumps against the chair at the head of the table. Without looking, Katniss fumbles to turn it around then slumps down, her legs refusing to hold her weight any longer. Snow had already threatened Gale and that was before she failed to convince him that she was utterly in love with Peeta. This was the moment she’d feared since Snow’s damning headshake on stage at the Capitol.

“What a pleasure to hear from you,” Katniss forces out, drawing forth every ounce of manners and decorum that Effie had ever forced on her. She can feel her cheeks straining against a tight smile, desperately hoping that her voice will carry that false cheer.

Snow’s chuckle sends a wave of terror snaking down her spine. “Now really, we agreed not to lie to each other any longer, my dear.”

Katniss swallows thickly, dreading the fallout of this conversation before it’s even begun. The president sounds far too pleased with himself, which means that someone she cares about is going to suffer. It could be Gale lost to a mine explosion, Prim’s name purposely drawn at the next Reaping, Haymitch drinking a tainted bottle of white liquor, her mother simply disappearing one night on her way home from helping a sick resident of the Seam, Peeta suffering an unfortunate accident at his father’s bakery.... Snow could destroy her entire family and make it look like an terrible accident. All because she’d held out a handful of berries to the boy who’d saved her life.

“I thought you should know that there will be some changes made in District Twelve,” Snow continues, breaking into Katniss’ fearful visions of an all-too possible future. “It’s been brought to my attention that things in District Twelve have become a bit lax. There needs to be order. And the people need to know that not even a Victor can escape the Capitol’s laws... or its punishments.”

The receiver falls from her hand, clattering against the tiles as it snaps back towards the wall. Katniss stares numbly at it for a few moments, watching the bright plastic twist about on the end of its cord, before she’s able to will herself to move.

“Peeta,” Katniss gasps as she launches herself from the chair. It skids backwards, the legs scraping against the floor then topples over. She stumbles out of the kitchen, knocking her shoulder against the doorjamb hard enough to send her reeling a few steps.

Her mother is suddenly there in front of her in the hallway, hands on her shoulders and a concerned look in her eyes. “Katniss, what’s the matter? Who was that on the phone?”

Katniss stares at her mother for several long seconds, her mind still spinning from the things Snow had said... had implied… Not even a Victor can escape the Capitol’s laws... or its punishments. He meant Peeta. However unknowingly, she’d dragged Peeta into her battle with Snow when she’d held out those berries. Snow is going to hurt him because she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of killing him. Of living without him. She’d been selfish and arrogant and far too naïve.

“I have.... I have to go. Right now,” Katniss manages to stammer, shaking herself into action. “You and Prim stay here. Please. There’s a storm coming and I don’t want you out in it.”

Her mother’s grip slides down to her forearm as she tries to slip away. “Katniss, what’s happening? You’re shaking. Please tell me who was on the phone.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Katniss promises, gently prying her mother’s fingers from her arm.

Katniss doesn’t give her mother a chance to protest further. She slips down the hallway towards the front door, barely remembering to grab her jacket before rushing out into the cold twilight. Clouds have been gathering all afternoon and Katniss knows it’s only a matter of time before the snow begins to fall. 

She’s barely cleared the porch before she’s sprinting towards Peeta’s house two doors down. Even before she’s passed Haymitch’s, Katniss can see that Peeta’s likely out. The house is completely dark, not even a faint glow seeping from the downstairs windows to indicate that he’s in the kitchen baking. Katniss offers up a few futile prayers that Peeta’s simply relying on the fading daylight for as long as possible and that he’s safely tucked away in the kitchen or upstairs in his studio painting those pictures that haunt their nightmares.

“Peeta!” she screams as she bursts through Peeta’s front door. “Peeta, where are you?”

Katniss rushes through the house, searching every room. Peeta’s home is even more unused and barren than her own. Katniss has her mother and sister living with her in their new house in the Victor’s Village, but Peeta’s alone. His family still has a bakery to run and they’ve chosen to stay in town. In some ways Katniss thinks that it’s best. It doesn’t take long to walk to the bakery and it means Peeta is free from his mother’s scrutiny and anger. Having a son who won his Games in such a spectacular and memorable fashion hasn’t softened Mrs. Mellark in the least. She’s just as critical, not even bothering to mask it with feigned motherly pride even when there’s customers in the bakery. It’s probably a relief for Peeta to have a peaceful space that’s all his own.

Just like she’s expected and feared, every room is empty.

Her thoughts immediately turn to the bakery. Peeta may no longer live there, but he still helps out his parents most days. Since he’s not meant to have a profession now that he’s a Victor, Peeta doesn’t have to work, but with so many hours in the day, he needs something to occupy his time. Something familiar. The Capitol is trying its best to turn him into some great romantic hero, but he’ll always be the boy with the bread. The boy who used his talent for frosting cakes to keep himself alive in the Arena until she could find him. Katniss knows that no amount of icing will save him if Snow truly sets his mind to it.

Running the whole way, it takes Katniss only a few minutes to reach the square. The square is usually rather empty so late in the day, a few individuals wandering between the shops running last minute errands. Tonight the square is packed, so full that Katniss can’t even enter the main body of the city center for all the people. The crowd is hushed, shifting nervously in a relatively compact space. 

Katniss pauses at the edge of the large crowd, desperately trying to figure out the source of a strange whistling cracking sound she can just make out over the frantic beating of her heart. There’s no reason for a crowd to have gathered so close to nightfall, especially as snowflakes begin to drop down on them. The Peacekeepers always discourage any type of large gathering. Large crowds tend to get unruly. The only time large crowds are permitted in the square are during the Reapings, the Victory Tour and....

Gale’s suddenly in front of her, features stricken, as that final thoughts skitters away. But not before it flashes a frightening image across her mind. Brands it there before she can find out if it’s her own panicked imagination or something so much worse. Gale puts an arm out to try and block her, but she shoves him away.

“Katniss, you don’t want to see this,” Gale pleads, latching onto her arm and tugging her back around to face him. Putting her back to the square, so she can’t possibly see what’s beyond. “Just go home. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Peeta,” she moans, knowing what Gale won’t say. That the sickeningly wet smack is the sound of Cray’s whip against Peeta’s back. A sound that she’s heard three times since reaching the square without an answering cry from Peeta.

After the fourth, she forces her way past Gale and through the crowd. Katniss has to elbow and shove her way through the onlookers, most of them too shocked to even register her presence. Katniss uses their distraction to her advantage and slips to the very front of the crowd, Gale shouting in her wake.

“No!”

The scream pushes its way past her lips before she can even fully comprehend what she’s seeing. Peeta’s slumped on his knees, his bright head bowed forward towards his chest. The only thing keeping him upright is the rope binding his hands to the worn wooden post. The tail of a squirrel nailed to the same post barely brushes his limp fingers. Peeta’s coat and shirt lie in a tangled heap a few feet away, exposing his back to the chill air.

The remains of his back, anyway.

The skin is shredded and bleeding, staining the waist of his khaki trousers. When the fifth blow falls, Peeta doesn’t so much as flinch. His body jerks forward, but that’s the result of the blow and isn’t a voluntary action. Before the blood wells up at his shoulder, Katniss is almost certain she sees a white flash of bone.

As the Head Peacekeeper lifts his arm to deliver another lash, Katniss darts forward, thrusting herself between Peeta and the whip. She throws her arms out, trying to protect him as much as possible. It’s too late for the Peacekeeper to draw back the blow entirely. The tip of the whip snakes fire across her left cheek. Katniss swallows a pained cry and curls her body protectively around Peeta’s, trying not to touch his savaged back.

“What’s going on here?” Haymitch’s voice booms across the square and Katniss curses him for not intervening sooner. Before Peeta got hurt. Before he was even tied to the post.

“Get out of there, girl!” a man who’s definitely not Cray shouts, ignoring Haymitch.

“Look at what you’ve done now. She’s got a photo shoot next week,” Haymitch laments, his voice coming closer with each word.

A small gust of wind ruffles Peeta’s damp hair and makes his entire body tremble. That minute movement draws a quiet moan from him. Katniss gently brushes his sweaty hair back from his temples, trying to offer whatever meager comfort she can while Peeta’s still tied up like a criminal. Behind her, Haymitch and the new Head Peacekeeper continue yelling at each other, but at least he’s not hurting Peeta any longer. Purnia joins in the debate, her calm voice a balm against the two men’s angry voices.

“Next time I’ll get the firing squad myself, Abernathy. Victor or no.”

The instant it becomes clear that Peeta’s punishment has ended, Katniss begins to fumble at the knots with numb fingers. The thought of Peeta suffering a moment longer brings back that ache deep in the pit of her stomach she hasn’t felt since he was sick and dying in the cave. Haymitch is there with a knife, easily cutting through the ropes. Peeta slumps bonelessly against the post once his arms are no longer holding him upright. Katniss reaches out to catch him as he starts listing to the side, hyperaware of where she places her hands. She doesn’t care about possibly getting his blood on her clothes, but she doesn’t want to hurt him any further. With a few quick, careful movements, Katniss maneuvers herself in front of Peeta, allowing him to rest against her. His breath is warm and damp against her neck.

“Watch out, Sweetheart. We need to get him to your mother,” Haymitch says, ducking down at her side. It’s the most sober and alert she’s ever seen him.

Katniss can only watch as Haymitch, Gale and Peeta’s father lay him out on a flat board. The board’s barely wide enough for Peeta’s broad shoulders, but long enough to support his entire body. The tears that Katniss has been holding at bay begin to burn as she watches Peeta’s left hand twitch helplessly on the ground. She starts to reach for him, but Gale is suddenly there, dumping a handful of snow into her palms.

“Put that on your face,” he instructs, guiding her trembling hands into motion. “It doesn’t look too bad, but it’ll probably hurt for a while.”

For the life of her, Katniss can’t figure out why Gale’s trying to console her when Peeta’s the one who’s just had his back laid open. The squirrel nailed to the post declares that Peeta’s being punishment because he was caught poaching, but Peeta doesn’t know how to hunt. He’s too loud and awkward in the forest to catch anything. And that’s even assuming Peeta knows where the weak spot in the fence is.

Peeta’s older brothers have joined them and together they carefully lift the makeshift stretcher off the ground. Katniss scrambles after them, the handful of snow forgotten in her haste. She hurries to Peeta’s side and grabs hold of his pant leg, needing to touch him, but not willing to hurt him. Katniss tries her best not to clutch at the material too tightly, refusing to give in fully to her rising panic. Peeta will be okay. Her mother will take care of him and he’ll be okay. Katniss doesn’t know what she’ll do if he isn’t.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katniss notices a familiar figure standing with one of the few remaining groups scattered around the square. Peeta’s mother. For a brief moment, Katniss actually believes that she’ll follow them, that she’ll come to her son when he desperately needs her. But she doesn’t. The witch lives down to every horrible thought Katniss has had since the first day she’d realized that it was his mother that left the bruises on Peeta’s golden skin and not his overactive older brothers.

The baker’s wife turns and walks away.

“Oh, Peeta,” Katniss whimpers, sliding her hand forward far enough to allow her to lightly stroke her fingertips over a small unblemished patch of skin just above the waistband of his pants. Even in the chill air, Peeta’s skin is blazing warm.

By the time they reach the edge of the square, only a few stragglers remain. Cray may have been a lecherous old bastard, but at least he could be counted on to ignore some of the more troublesome laws so long as his desires were kept sated. Sadly, there were always enough desperate girls in the Seam to meet his needs. The new Head Peacekeeper terrifies Katniss because he’s obviously in Snow’s pocket. It’s no coincidence that Peeta was supposedly caught poaching the same day Cray was replaced. There are a lot of people in District Twelve who know that Peeta’s father likes squirrel meat. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge to plant the carcass and then accuse one of the Mellark men of poaching it. And Peeta, being as brave, stupid and loyal as ever, wouldn’t have hesitated to put his own safety at risk to keep those he loves safe.

“You should go on ahead and tell your mother what’s going on,” Gale suggests once they reach the edges of the Victor’s Village. “Give her at least a few minutes to gather supplies.”

As much as Katniss doesn’t want to leave Peeta, she knows that Gale’s suggestion makes sense. It’s been a very long time since anyone in District Twelve has been flogged, so her mother might not have any remedies readily on hand. Not that Katniss can even think of something that could erase the horrible damage done to Peeta’s back.

After sliding her thumb across that bare patch of skin just above Peeta’s waistband, Katniss sprints towards her house. It’s the only house of the twelve that fill the Victor’s Village to have its lights on that night. In the ever-darkening twilight, it looks like a cheery beacon on the edge of the wilderness. A place where Peeta can be safe and get better. Because he’s not going to die. Katniss refuses to let Peeta succumb to his injuries like she knows so many others have in the past. She may not remember a time before Cray, but she knows the stories. Knows about all of the people who died from the floggings and other Capitol-approved punishments. Her mother had saved many others from death and Katniss is determined that she’ll do so again.

“Mom!” Katniss shouts as she throws open the front door. “Mom, help!”

Katniss nearly crashes into her mother and sister as she staggers into the kitchen. She has to grab hold of Prim’s shoulders to keep from tripping over her own feet. All of the movement sends Cinna’s scarf tumbling to the floor.

“Your face! Katniss, how did this happen?” her mother demands, hands darting up to tilt her face into the light. 

Katniss allows it for a brief moment, taking those few seconds while her mother examines her stinging cheek to calm her nerves. It proves to be futile because she can’t push back the panic that’s been building in her since hearing that first sharp crack snap through the air. 

“Peeta.... They.... He.... Mom, you have to fix him,” Katniss stammers, glancing back over her shoulder towards the empty front door. “They caught him with a squirrel and....”

Understanding blooms in her mother’s eyes. In a matter of moments, her mother is directing Prim to clear off the table while she disappears into the pantry to gather supplies. Katniss flounders, not sure which way to go. She’s never been able to handle pain and sickness like her mother and Prim. Caring for Peeta’s injured leg during the Games had been a huge challenge that nearly left her vomiting several times. While she still doubts her own healing skills, Katniss is confident that her mother and sister will be able to save Peeta.

Shuffling in the entryway draws Katniss’ attention away from the frantic preparations going on in the kitchen. Her first instinct is to rush over, but she stops herself. The hallway is barely wide enough for the others to pass through without knocking their shoulders against the walls. They don’t need her getting in the way and slowing them down.

Katniss backs deeper into the kitchen until she bumps into the counter on the far wall, her eyes never leaving Peeta’s rumpled hair. Lowering her gaze beyond his shoulders is impossible. Especially since she knows that what happened was her fault. Snow had told her as much during his call and with Cray’s unexpected replacement. Katniss can tell by her mother’s expression as she crosses over from the pantry that Peeta’s injuries are as bad as she’s feared. The look’s gone in an instant, replaced by the stoic exterior that only appears when she’s caring for patients. Katniss has always wished that her mother was able to show such strength in all things. Maybe then things wouldn’t have been so dire for them following the mine explosion.

“Put him on the table,” her mother instructs as she hands Prim an armload of cloths and linen bandages. She hurries over to the stove and removes the kettle, pouring its heated contents into a large bowl that she fills with an equal amount of cold water. She rattles off instructions to the men gathered in the kitchen, giving each of them a task.

Katniss is left at loose ends, not sure what she can do to help. She looks around helplessly for a few moments before wandering over to the chair closest to Peeta’s face. The chair’s usually Prim’s when they all eat together, a few abandoned hair ribbons draped over the back indicating her claim on it. Peeta’s lying with his head directed towards the chair she’d been sitting in only a short while ago, his face turned towards the wall. Katniss scoots the chair closer, her fingers reaching out to brush away the hair that’s matted against Peeta’s forehead with perspiration. Even deeply unconscious, Peeta’s features are creased in agony. She leans in, pressing her lips against his temple briefly before resting her forehead against that same spot. After so much time out in the freezing air, his skin is still almost painfully warm. Katniss closes her eyes and prays that Peeta will remain unconscious until her mother finishes.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs against his damp cheek. Katniss kisses the corner of his mouth, her right hand gently cupping his jaw. She lightly strokes his skin, stubble tickling her fingertips. “I never thought he’d hurt you.”

Taking several deep breaths, Katniss straightens. She keeps her hands on Peeta, the fingers cupping his jaw sliding down to stroke his neck. It’s several long seconds before Katniss can convince herself to look down at Peeta’s mangled back. Her mother and Prim are carefully cleaning the blood, taking care to salvage as much of the damaged skin as possible. It’s a sickening sight and Katniss has to look away quickly as her stomach begins to swirl with nausea. Her eyes immediately find those of Peeta’s eldest brother, his grief and shock clearly visible. Katniss can’t recall his name right then, but she remembers the way he used to play wrestle with Peeta in the schoolyard when they were younger. The eldest of the Mellark boys has always looked after his younger brothers fondly, much like she has Prim.

“How did Peeta...? Why was he...?” The words continue to stick in her throat. His injuries may be vastly different, but Katniss can’t help but feel just as helpless now as he did in the cave.

Peeta’s father saves her the attempt. “The new Head came storming into the bakery claiming someone had seen us hiding squirrels in the yard. Sure enough, he went straight to the spot where I hide ‘em from the missus. He didn’t even hesitate. Then Peeta announced that the squirrel was his before Thread could even make an accusation. I don’t know if he hoped for some type of leniency because he’s a Victor, but Thread certainly didn’t care.... I almost think he took greater pleasure because of it.”

Katniss doesn’t doubt that’s true. Snow would have sent only his most loyal of lapdogs to oversee District Twelve. She lowers her head to rest alongside Peeta’s, eyes closing to block out all of the unvoiced accusations swirling about in her mind. This is all her fault even if the others haven’t realized it yet.

“It would have happened some other way,” Katniss breathes out, not sure if the others can hear her, but needing to voice it anyway. “Snow wanted it to happen, so it did. He told me as much.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Haymitch tries to insist. There isn’t much conviction in his voice.

Katniss squeezes her eyes even tighter, forcing tears out of the corners to drip down onto the tabletop. “Yes, I can. We started something when we went to each the berries. Snow doesn’t like it.”

The conversation carries on without her, Haymitch and Gale arguing loudly with each other. Katniss knows what they’re fighting about. No doubt Gale’s telling Haymitch about the rebellion in Eight and her own desire to run away from it all. His desire to stay and fight. More than ever, Katniss wishes that she could run far away from District Twelve, from the Capitol and from Snow. Somewhere that she and Peeta can find some sort of peace.

Katniss startles from her thoughts when she feels a small hand on her shoulder. Prim is standing there, concern shining brightly in her eyes. Her little sister is in firm control of her emotions, though. Prim’s voice is steady and calm as she instructs Katniss to turn her head slightly to the side, exposing her throbbing cheek for inspection.

“Hold still,” Prim orders quietly as she begins to dab at her cheek with a wet cloth. Watching her sister out of the corner of her eye, Katniss finds it hard to believe that this is the same little girl she left behind last year when she went to the Capitol. Prim reminds her more of their mother when they were children, before their father died. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips as she lightly applies some type of ointment to the lash mark. 

Katniss nods her thanks as Prim begins to wipe her hands on the damp cloth, reaching out to squeeze her sister’s arm briefly. Before walking away, Prim squeezes her hand in return.

After a few minutes, Katniss feels Peeta beginning to stir. Voice caught in her throat, her hand automatically moves through his hair, eyes trained on his face. Peeta’s eyes begin to dart about behind his eyelids and his torn, swollen lips tighten in a grimace. When his pale lashes start to flutter, Katniss ducks her head so that she can catch his eyes. So that she can see for herself how he is. Peeta can spin intricate webs with his words, but those lies never completely reach his eyes.

Peeta gasps out a quiet scream, his entire body going rigid. His fingers are scrabbling at the edge of the table, so Katniss slips her right hand between his hand and the table, allowing him to clutch at her. His grip squeezes her fingers together painfully, but Katniss doesn’t care. It’s a small hurt compared to what Peeta’s suffering.

When Peeta finally blinks his eyes open, Katniss feels the breath stolen from her lungs. His eyes are only open a tiny sliver, but the amount of pain swimming in those blue depths is almost like a physical blow. Peeta’s lips mouth her name, but the only sound he manages is a pained whimper. Then his eyes squeeze shut again and his hand tightens impossibly further around her fingers.

“You’re going to be okay,” Katniss whispers against his forehead. She nearly sobs when Peeta draws their joined hands to mouth and presses her fingertips to his lips. His lips are trembling, his breath puffing damply against her skin. “I won’t lose you. I can’t.”

Peeta’s next scream stops her breath for a moment. She casts an accusing glare at her mother while gently shushing Peeta and stroking his hair. There are pills that her mother could give Peeta. Little white pills that her mother only doles out for only the most extreme cases because they’re so expensive. But if the state of Peeta’s back doesn’t warrant one of those pain pills, Katniss doesn’t know what does. The expense doesn’t matter. She’ll find a thousand plants that her mother could use to help her patients if she just gives Peeta one pill.

“Mother, please, he needs medicine,” Katniss pleads in between pressing kisses to Peeta’s forehead. “You’re torturing him.”

“The medicine will only cause more harm than good until the bleeding stops,” her mother attempts to soothe as she gently blots down a flap of skin, eyes never straying from Peeta’s back. “They could very well cause him to bleed more.”

Katniss nearly screams at the announcement, unable to believe that something meant to help people could actually hurt them. It sounds like something the Capitol would create. Katniss doubts that the Capitol has ever created something that didn’t cause some type of pain to the people using it. So many people have had alterations that they probably can’t tell the difference between healing and harm. Nearly as many of them probably receive some sick pleasure from the pain.

Peeta tries to swallow his next cry, but fails utterly. It’s almost a blessing that he seems to pass out immediately after. He deserves to find a temporary oblivion some way—to save him from the agony of his injuries—and, since he can’t have those little pills, Katniss is relieved that he’s found it in unconsciousness. She snuffles loudly as Peeta’s features go lax, scrubbing at her eyes with the heel of her left hand. Her right is still trapped within Peeta’s, but she’s in no rush to free it.

As she glances around the room, Katniss realizes that there are less people in her kitchen. Gale and Haymitch are both gone, either off in some other part of the house or returned to their own homes. Peeta’s brothers and father are still huddled in the kitchen, closer to the back door than the table, but still there. Still with Peeta even though his mother’s abandoned him. Katniss can’t imagine ever abandoning him. Every gentle spasm of his fingers around hers tethers him to her even more. It surprises her that being connected to Peeta doesn’t frighten her as much as it had only a few weeks ago. Now it’s the opposite that truly frightens her.

The knock at the front door startles her and everyone else in the kitchen. Katniss hadn’t heard much of the exchange between Haymitch and Thread, so she really doesn’t know the details of Peeta’s release. Her heart begins to beat faster at the possibility that Thread has come to take Peeta away to suffer even more. Glancing around the kitchen, she can see similar looks of worry on everyone else’s faces.

“Mom?” Prim asks nervously, glancing over from the stove where she’s mixing together an herb soak for Peeta’s back. 

Katniss feels equally worried, but doesn’t voice it. Instead she brings Peeta’s hand to her lips and gently kisses his knuckles. A shuffling on the far side of the kitchen catches her attention. Peeta’s eldest brother has positioned himself between the door and Peeta. A moment later the other two Mellark men have followed suit, creating a protective barrier against whatever was coming.

The knock doesn’t come a second time. Instead the door opens and a few quiet murmurs drift from the front of the house back to the kitchen. Katniss remains tense, staring towards the arched doorway that leads out into the hallway. When the door closes without any shouts or scuffling, Katniss begins to relax. For a brief moment she permits herself to consider the possibility that Peeta’s mother has finally arrived.

Even after allowing herself that brief moment of hope for Peeta’s sake, Katniss isn’t really surprised that it isn’t Mrs. Mellark who enters the kitchen. It’s Gale and Haymitch.

“The mayor’s daughter brought this,” Gale says, holding out a vial filled with a pale yellow liquid.

Katniss peers at what Gale’s holding, trying to figure out what Madge had given him. Or even why Madge would have brought something. A quick glance at her mother renews that earlier sense of hope. Her mother’s tense features have softened somewhat and she looks a bit relieved.

“What is it?” Katniss asks as Gale hands the liquid to her mother.

“Morphling,” her mother answers, holding the vial up carefully, examining the contents. “It’s from the Capitol and will help with the pain without the risk of bleeding.”

Katniss’ entire body slumps with relief. She wants to run after Madge and thank her for bringing the medicine. Instead she presses another kiss to Peeta’s knuckles and smoothes her fingers through his hair. As she watches his face, she can see the instant her mother gives him the medicine. The tension that’s been gripping his features finally slackens and the stiff lines of his shoulders relax. His hand, though, remains firm around hers.

“The weather’s getting worse,” Gale announces into the ensuing silence. “The storm looks like it’s going to be a bad one. I need to get back to my family.”

“Gale,” Katniss calls out, stopping him before he can go. She knows that she should go to him and thank him properly for all he’s done, but she feels as though she’s glued to the chair. “Thank you, Gale. For everything.”

It’s nowhere near enough to express everything she owes to Gale, but she’s never been good with words. In the past Gale’s always been able to figure out what she wants to tell him without having to say the words. Only this time her actions are likely giving a message Gale doesn’t want to hear.

“I’ll come back once the storm clears.”

Then he’s gone, disappearing out into the night.

Everyone beings to drift away after that. Katniss offers her too large bedroom to Peeta’s father and brothers, knowing by their expressions that they won’t leave until they’re certain that Peeta will recover. Prim follows soon after, ordered to bed by their mother. The kitchen is hauntingly quiet afterwards, only the sound of her mother cleaning up her healing supplies filling the room.

“You should get some sleep, too,” her mother suggests as she empties the bowl of pinkish water in the sink. “Take my bed. I’ll sit up with Peeta.”

Katniss is shaking her head even as her mother makes the suggestion. “No. I want to stay with him. I need to stay.”

“Katniss....” The protest dies on her lips. Their relationship has never been one where her mother could really tell her what to do. It’s gotten better in the months since the Games, but nothing will ever be able to erase those five years that her mother had all but given up on life and forced Katniss to take up a role she hadn’t been prepared for at eleven years old.

With a sigh, her mother nods and disappears from the kitchen. She reappears a moment later with the heavy quilt from the sitting room. The worn quilt had belonged to her mother’s family for several generations, each one adding a few pieces of their own memories. Katniss’ mother had added a small square from one of her husband’s coveralls and remnants from a blanket she and Prim had used as infants.

“You should try to rest,” her mother murmurs as she drapes the quilt over Katniss’ shoulders. The blanket is long enough that she can also cover Peeta’s lower body. Once she’s happy with the arrangement, her mother kisses the top of her head then leaves the kitchen a second time, taking the last of the large candles with her to light the way.

The room is dim and quiet, lit only by the large hearth on the far side of the kitchen next to the red telephone. It’s almost peaceful in a way that Katniss hadn’t thought it could be while being used as a sickroom. That’s mostly down to the morphling that Madge brought and the warm fingers still wrapped tightly around hers. Peeta will get better. The fact that her mother has left without a fuss or a long list of instructions is proof enough. That it’s Peeta is another. Peeta is so much stronger than she’d believed he was the day of the Reaping. She’d always thought of the Merchant kids as weaker. After all, they don’t have to struggle to the same extent as the children from the Seam. Their cheeks are never quite so hollow or their eyes as haunted. Peeta’s proved her wrong. He’s so much stronger than she ever would have imagined. Strong enough to survive the Games and now strong enough to survive Snow’s machinations.

From her seat at the kitchen table, Katniss can see the snow falling heavily outside the windows. It’s the first really heavy snowfall of the year and will likely leave at least a foot on the ground before it stops. However, even without all the snow, Katniss knows that it will be a while before Peeta’s able to return to his house. A while before he’ll even be able to move. Even when he is, Katniss has no intention of letting him go alone. 

She’s been denying it for months, since even before the Victory Tour, but Katniss cares more for Peeta than she’d admitted even to herself in the past. It’s no longer just for the cameras and the Capitol. Katniss hadn’t really realized how essential Peeta had become to her life until he was no longer just a room away. And it’s not just the reassurance of having him close when the nightmares come. There’s something soothing about his presence, something that she can’t quite put a name to. That feeling wasn’t there when Gale kissed her on the other side of the fence. Katniss had wanted to feel some of that fire with Gale, but it had just felt off. Perhaps it was some instinct deep down inside of her, reminding her of what she’d already known for a long time. That before she’d started hunting with Gale, she’d been connected to Peeta. That lonely night in the rain when she’s been about ready to give up had led her exactly where she needed to be.

To the boy with the bread.

Shifting carefully so she doesn’t disturb Peeta, Katniss curls up on the chair. She crosses her arms across the edge of the table and tries to find a comfortable position to nap. Katniss knows she won’t sleep that night. Even if she were in the most luxurious bed in the Capitol, she wouldn’t have been able to really fall asleep. Not when Peeta was hurting so much. At least this time, unlike those nights right after the Games, she can see him and touch him and know that he’s safe. Katniss might not be able to do anything to ease his pain, but at least she can be there.

The flickering fire starts to smolder a bit as the night wears on, but lets off enough light for her to see Peeta’s face. The angles and planes of his face are highlighted by the firelight, reminding her of their first night in the Capitol when they’d paraded through the city in Cinna and Portia’s brilliant costumes. Katniss traces those same lines with her fingertips, the pads of her fingers just barely touching his skin. She loops her fingers repeatedly across the thin barrier that separated his stubbled jaw from the smooth skin of his cheeks, skirting the same line between man and boy that Peeta has since the Reaping.

Some time towards the middle of the night, Peeta begins to shift uncomfortably again. Once his fingers start twitching around hers again, Katniss sits back up and shuffles closer to Peeta. The muted light causes the creases between his eyebrows to stand out more starkly. Katniss first rubs at those lines with her thumb before pressing her lips to the furrow. She lingers there a moment before trailing a second against his temple, close to the hairline. Her third kiss brushes against the corner of Peeta’s mouth.

“Still here.”

Peeta’s voice is little more than a whisper, his lips barely moving. The words seem to catch in his throat and are gasped out breathlessly. Even so, Katniss nearly sobs in relief to hear it. They’re the first words Katniss has heard him speak since stumbling into the square.

Kissing his cheek a final time, Katniss tilts her head so she can see Peeta’s face. His eyes are slit open much like they’d been earlier, but she thinks he’s a bit more aware this time. At the very least, the haze of pain has been pushed from his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she tells him, kissing his lips gently. His lips are no longer quite so swollen as they’d been immediately after the whipping, but Katniss can still feel the rough patches where teeth bit through flesh. “I don’t want to be.”

His lips twitch slightly at the corners, the barest ghost of a smile. “I’m glad.”

There’s relief in Peeta’s eyes that quickly turns to confusion as he looks closely at her face. Peeta lifts his hand, his fingers reaching towards her swollen right cheek. As their fingers slip apart, Katniss manages to catch hold of his thumb with her index finger. Her grip makes Peeta’s touch somewhat ungainly and he inadvertently presses too hard against her swollen cheek.

“Wha—”

Katniss twists her fingers through Peeta’s, drawing his hand towards her lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Katniss....”

She shakes her head, aware that this is not the time to worry about such things. Peeta’s only concern should be healing, not working himself up over such inconsequential things like a scratch to her cheek.

“For once just worry about you,” Katniss murmurs, leaning forward to fit her lips to Peeta’s. The angle’s a little bit awkward, forcing Katniss to contort her upper body slightly, but in that moment she doesn’t care. Peeta is warm and alive and safe from the Capitol. At least while he’s there with her. As she closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, Katniss can almost imagine that she smells that underlying aroma of sugar and vanilla that always seems to linger on Peeta’s skin.

They exchange several soft kisses in the fading firelight before Peeta once again succumbs to his injuries. Katniss settles back in her chair to watch him, the quilt slipping down off her shoulders. A shiver instantly shakes its way down her spine, but Katniss doesn’t bother righting the blanket. She quietly sits there, her fingers lightly smoothing Peeta’s hair away from his face. The blonde waves have curled slightly, dampened by perspiration and those first few snowflakes.

“I love you,” Katniss whispers into the silent room, saying those words for the first time without any cameras or obligations. 

It’s the first time she actually means them. 

Peeta sleeps on, unaware of her revelation. She tries the words out a few more times, testing the feel of them on her tongue. It’s a lot easier to say now that she’s not being forced into the emotion by President Snow. Watching the light play off Peeta’s cheekbones and his pale lashes, Katniss finds that she likes the way they feel on her lips. She wants to continue saying them for a very long time.

XXXXXXXXXX

Katniss isn’t aware that she’s fallen asleep until a hand gently shakes her shoulder. Despite the light touch, Katniss startles enough that she nearly topples out of the chair. The same hand that woke her provides a steadying grip to keep her from falling. Her neck and shoulders are aching, stiff from several hours spent sleeping hunched over the table. 

A quick glance around the kitchen shows that he fire’s been stoked once again. It’s still the only source of light in the room, the sky outside the kitchen window dark with snow clouds, blocking out the moon. It’s probably at least a few hours until dawn. After checking to make sure that Peeta’s still covered with the quilt, Katniss finally looks to see who’s joined her in the kitchen.

“I’ll take over sitting with him if you want,” Peeta’s eldest brother offers, his smile tight. The expression is so similar to Peeta’s that Katniss feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Rye—now that her earlier panic has receded she can remember his name—has the same shape to his eyes and tilt to his mouth that Peeta does. His voice was also just as gentle as his younger brother’s. “I can’t offer you back your bed, but....”

Katniss shakes her head, cutting him off. “That’s okay. I’m fine here.”

Rye’s just as stubborn as his younger brother. He leans back against the counter near the washbasin, arms crossed over his chest. “You should probably at least get up and stretch your legs. You’ve been sitting in that chair for a long time.”

The instant that he mentions it, Katniss starts to shift about somewhat uncomfortably. She attempts to glare at him, but it’s obvious she fails because Rye only grins at her. Despite herself, Katniss feels an answering smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The Mellark men seem to excel at coaxing reluctant smiles from her in even the most stressful situations.

As she rises from the chair, Katniss carefully removes the quilt. She twists her way out from under it, not wanting to accidentally drag the edges of it across Peeta’s raw back. Even with the bandages covering them now, it would still be incredibly painful Once free, Katniss drapes the excess across Peeta’s legs and hips, tucking it securely around him. She brushes a kiss against his forehead then slips from behind the heavy wooden table. Her legs wobble briefly, thousands of pinpricks tingling up and down her skin, but she quickly shakes the sensation off.

Katniss shuffles quietly over to the sink where she fills the kettle with water. Since it will take too long to get the stove heated, she brings the metal kettle over to the hearth and hangs it from one of the hooks positioned over the flames. When she turns back to ask Rye if he wants some tea as well, she’s slightly startled when he’s not standing in front of the counter any longer. A quick turn of her head finds him next to the table, his large hand resting on Peeta’s head.

“If I’d been young enough, I would have taken his place,” Rye says quietly, his eyes never leaving Peeta’s face. “I don’t hold it against....”

“Peeta’s never held it against him, either,” Katniss is quick to reassure him as she takes her mother’s old teapot down off the shelf above the hearth. She’d seen the sadness in Peeta’s eyes when he’d talked about his brother’s failure to volunteer in his place, but it was an understandable action. Katniss is the first person in District Twelve to ever take a sibling’s place in the Games.

The thing that had hurt Peeta more was his own mother not even entertaining the possibility that he could win.

They’re quiet as Katniss goes through the mechanical motions of making tea. The thick covering of snow that’s built up outside muffles things, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. Coal dust will darken the snow before long, but for now it’s still a haunting white that stands more than a foot deep. If it keeps falling at such a rate, it could be several days before anyone could leave the house.

“Do you want some?” Katniss asks as she begins pouring hot water into the teapot. At Rye’s nod, she adds enough for a second cup then sets the kettle down on a nearby hot pad. 

After setting the tea to steep, Katniss turns back around, leaning against the counter as she watches the brothers on the other side of the kitchen. Rye has taken over her seat and is watching over Peeta as he sleeps fitfully on the table. The morphling is wearing off, but Katniss has no idea how much to administer or even where her mother put it. Her fingers itch to run through his hair and over his skin, but she stays where she is. Rye is there and is more than capable of looking after his little brother.

“I’d worried that everything that happened between you in the Games was a lie,” Rye tells her as she turns to gather up a pair of cups. “He was so sad when you came back and the both of you were so distant.... Hardly the star-crossed lovers Abernathy painted you as.”

Katniss bows her head and sucks in a few deep breaths. “It was.”

“What was?” Rye presses, his voice suddenly hard.

Katniss doesn’t answer right away. She finishes pouring the tea, using the time in between to sort out her thoughts. Figuring out her emotions has never been something she excels at. Her emotions for Peeta have always been even harder still. There’s so much history between them, but until the Reaping their histories were completely separate things that had only intersected briefly the night Peeta flung her two burnt loaves of bread. Now that they’re intertwined, Katniss isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Katniss crosses the room slowly, a cup in each hand. When she’s close enough, she passes one to Rye, her hands steady so as not to accidentally spill a drop on Peeta. As Rye sits back in the chair, Katniss stares intently at Peeta’s profile. His lips are slightly parted and his long lashes flutter lightly against his cheek. From this angle, the firelight makes his stubble appear almost reddish instead of blonde. As Peeta’s brow begins to furrow, Katniss reaches out to comb her fingers through his hair. She keeps up that contact as she swivels to the empty chair at the head of the table. It obscures her view of his face, but she can still touch him.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to keep him, not really,” Katniss admits after taking a sip of the minty tea. “As much as I wanted to believe they’d let us both win, I never really did. So I tried not to feel anything. I played the role the Capitol wanted because I couldn’t let him die for saving my life—I didn’t want him to die at all. That part was always real. I just... I just didn’t let myself think about anything except getting us home.”

Rye stares deep into his cup for several long moments, considering what she said. Katniss hopes that she’s made at least some sense. She’s always marveled at how others can talk about their emotions so easily. She doesn’t have the same eloquence as Peeta or even Gale, and always ends up fumbling when she tries to talk about how she feels. Katniss has always relied on her actions to say what she’s unable to.

“So everything you said during the interviews and on the tour...?”

Under normal circumstances, Katniss would refuse to answer Rye’s questions. It’s no one’s business what she feels for Peeta or anyone else. But Rye isn’t anyone. He’s Peeta’s brother and Katniss knows that he cares a great deal about his youngest brother. In a few years she’ll likely react the same way the first time Prim falls in love.

She twirls one of Peeta’s stray curls between her index and middle fingers, careful not to tug on the strands. “I’m not sure. At first I was just relieved that he was alive—they didn’t let me see him from the time we left the Arena till the recap night—and worried that something would happen because I’d forced their hand.... I just.... I don’t know what you want me to say, Rye. I love him. Does it matter when or how it happened?”

Rye’s lips quirked in the corner, an odd smile that looked so similar to Peeta’s when he was amused. “No, not really.”

XXXXXXXXXX

The second time Katniss wakes up, she’s not in the kitchen. She doesn’t remember falling asleep and it takes her a minute to realize that she’s lying on the couch in the sitting room. She lies there a few minutes more, watching as the snow continues tumbling down outside the large front window. Everything she can see is still so very white.

Murmuring from the kitchen draws her attention from the snow. Katniss immediately rolls of the couch, her feet tangling in the blanket that was draped over her at some point. She lands hard on the ground, smacking her left elbow on the floorboards. Cursing under her breath, Katniss rubs at her elbow while she kicks the blanket off her legs. In the end, she grabs hold of the blanket and flings it across the room when it remains stubbornly wound around her right leg.

The clouds are still thick and heavy, making it difficult to tell the time. A quick glance out the window on her way out of the room reveals that the snow’s at least a few feet deep. There’s enough of a wind to create deep drifts against the houses across the road. She can’t see her own porch, but instinctively knows that hers looks the same. It’s more than enough snow to keep them cut off from the rest of District Twelve for a few days.

As soon as she steps out into the hallway, Katniss’ skin prickles as a cold draft slips from the kitchen. She hurries towards the kitchen, baffled as to why anyone would let cold air into the kitchen when Peeta’s meant to be recovering there. As soon as Katniss sees the large bowl of snow on the counter, she knows. Her mother is at the stove, stirring a mixture of herbs that she’ll add to the snow, creating what she calls a snow coat.

The chairs that usually sit around the table have been moved closer to the hearth. Peeta’s father and brothers are seated on them, drinking cups of tea and sipping bowls of rabbit stew. They nod their greetings, mouths full, as Katniss slips into the only chair left at the table. The one directly in front of Peeta.

“Morning,” Prim yawns, bringing her a cup of tea.

Katniss smiles fondly at her sister as she accepts the still steaming tea. The gesture sends a sharp jolt of pain lacing through her cheek, but Katniss pointedly ignores it. All things considered, it’s a minor inconvenience. Instead she wraps an arm around Prim’s shoulders and draws her close enough to press a kiss to her temple. “Good morning, little duck.”

“Prim, come help me,” her mother calls from the stove.

The bandages that her mother had draped over Peeta’s back the night before are gone. In the all too harsh light of day, Katniss can pick out each individual lash mark. It’s still as raw and horrific as it had been the night before, even more so now for all its starkness. A few of the deeper wounds are still seeping blood. Katniss holds her hand a few inches above Peeta’s back and can feel the heat radiating from his wounds.

“Hey.”

The word is little more than a croak, but it startles Katniss enough that she nearly spills her tea. She draws her hand back, her eyes instantly going to Peeta’s face. His eyes are barely open, but there’s a faint trace of a smile in the curve of his lips.

“Hey,” she smiles, holding her hand out as Peeta’s fingers begin fumbling for hers. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask Peeta how he is, but she swallows the urge, taking a quick gulp of tea to make sure it doesn’t slip out. The tea is too hot, so all Katniss ends up doing is scalding her tongue.

Before Katniss can figure out what to say, her mother appears on the other side of the table. She’s holding the bowl of snow from the counter, stirring it with a wooden spoon to fully incorporate the herb mixture. Now that she’s close enough to smell it, Katniss recognizes the fresh scent of a snow coat.

Leaving her fingers tangled together with Peeta’s, Katniss sets her teacup down on the floor near her feet and helps her mother spread the fresh linen across Peeta’s back. She smoothes it gently over his shoulders, her fingers trailing down along his arm as she finishes. Katniss squeezes his forearm briefly, grinning at the blissful exhale Peeta releases as her mother carefully deposits the first bit of the snow coat onto his back. The lines of tension slowly erase themselves from Peeta’s face as her mother spreads more and more of the mixture. Even his shoulders seem to relax somewhat, dropping ever so slightly towards the tabletop.

“Here, put this on your cheek.”

Katniss hasn’t even hard Prim walk over and startles slightly when her sister holds a cloth-wrapped bundle of the snow coat out to her. She barely has it in her hand before Prim is ducking down to collect the teacup from the floor. Katniss hasn’t managed more than that first failed sip, but between holding onto the snow pack and Peeta’s hand, she simply doesn’t have a hand to spare to hold the cup.

“Thanks, Prim,” Katniss murmurs as she presses the snow coat to her cheek. As soon as the chilled cloth touches her skin, all of the stinging warmth is leached away. It’s immensely soothing and Katniss tries to imagine what it would feel like to have that sensation, magnified a hundred times, spreading across her entire back. Tries to imagine that dull throbbing that had come before ratcheted up to unbearable levels with even the slightest twitch of her body.

Both thoughts leave her eyes burning with unshed tears.

“How come you couldn’t do this last night?” Katniss asks as her mother finishes patting down the green snow. “If it helps so much, why couldn’t you do this before?”

Her mother’s smile is apologetic. “I had to wait for the wounds to set. This wouldn’t have done any good last night.”

It’s not the answer she wants to hear, but Katniss is relieved to know that her mother hadn’t purposely let Peeta suffer overnight. 

While the snow coat has its strongest effect, her mother puts them all to work trying to turn their large kitchen table into a bed. After her mother and Prim have cleared the melted snow off his back, Peeta’s brothers and father help lever him up onto his knees, holding him steady so that she and Prim can spread blankets out across the hard wood surface. Katniss tries to make the padding as thick as possible, but she knows that it won’t be comfortable for very long. Nowhere near as long as Peeta will be stuck using it as a bed.

Peeta’s trembling by the time they ease him back down, features pinched and skin ghostly white. His weak panting breaths remind her far too much of those terrifying nights in the cave when she didn’t know whether he’d live or die. Katniss can feel that fear creeping up on her again, starting in the pit of her stomach and spreading outward. 

Noises around the kitchen distract her, replacing the sound of Peeta’s pained gasps. Prim opening the door to get another bowlful of snow. Peeta’s father stirring the rabbit stew that’s still simmering in the hearth. Her mother preparing another batch of herbs for a second snow coat. Normal, every day sounds that have nothing to do with the Arena or the Capitol.

Leaning forward, Katniss pushes Peeta’s hair back, kissing his damp forehead. His fingers lack their usual strength when he grips at her arm, but his thumb gently sliding across her skin is comforting.

“Just rest,” Katniss whispers against his cheek then sits back just enough so that she can see his eyes.

“You’ll be here.” Peeta’s voice his rough and trembles just as much as his fingers on her arm, but there’s no doubt. It’s not a question. 

It doesn’t need to be.

One day Katniss will get up the nerve to tell Peeta that she loves him when he’s awake to hear the words. She knows how desperately he wants to hear those words. For the moment, though, her actions seem to be speaking loud enough.

“I’ll be here.”

The end.


End file.
